


Winter is for Musings

by pikkugen



Category: Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikkugen/pseuds/pikkugen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the Dweller Under the Sink does in winters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter is for Musings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noracharles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noracharles/gifts).



> Beta by AntigravityDevice (thanks!)

Winter had come again. The Dweller Under the Sink listened to the silence of the house where the family no longer bustled but instead snored softly in their beds. It was his time of the year; the kitchen and the dusty floor under the sink belonged to him and him alone. He settled comfortably in the dust and cobwebs, made a little nest of the old dishcloth that had dropped behind the sink and started his Musings.

It was an important business, his Musing. Summer was too hot and noisy and there were little creatures all over wanting his important opinion on anything and everything, but winter was the time for Important Thoughts. He thought about the names of things.

His own language, that which he spoke with his bushy eyebrows, was invented and developed by himself. He thought very carefully about every aspect of his little life and the irritating incident last winter, when that annoying creature had woken up in the heart of winter and insulted him. Radamsa! And the old lingonberry juice! He almost lost his temper thinking of it. He would have to think up a concept and a word for that insult. Radamsa didn't even begin to describe it.

He pondered for a while the depth of the snow – smepeh – and the depth of the sky – frasa – and then he tried to capture the essence of the darkness of the winter night, but the word eluded him for now. He crawled from under the sink and went to find some food in the closet. At least the annoying little creature had left him some bread. He muttered to himself while munching the bread and left a trail of breadcrumbs behind him. He went upstairs to see if the family was fast asleep, and was relieved to see that everyone was tucked in deeply in their beds and sleeping away the winter, like all the snadaff – the creatures of summer – should. No interruptions this winter.

He wiggled his bushy eyebrows insultingly and shattered the last of the sharp dry breadcrumbs from his hands beside the bed of the annoying little one, so he would step on them first thing in the spring. Radamsa! He wouldn’t forgive him for that particular insult.

The darkness of the winter night still needed a name, so he went back into his nest of dishcloth and closed his eyes, falling into deep thought. Without a proper name the darkness of the winter night couldn’t be told from the slightly different darkness of a wet autumn night, or the quite different darkness of a windowless room – or the darkness under the sink in wintertime. Without that name the darkness would melt and become fuzzy in the edges, and that would spell disaster for the world order. It needed a name that was as deep and dark and sharp in the edges as the darkness of the winter night, and he had all winter to think about it.

The little creature with bushy eyebrows fell asleep in his nest of dishcloth, thinking of deep and significant things in the deep heart of winter in the sleeping, snow-covered house.


End file.
